


all things are possible through Him

by voodoochild



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set pre-Summerslam 2002, referencing Shawn's comeback match and the sledgehammer finish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all things are possible through Him

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **recessional's** prompt: "absolutely flawless trust". Many thanks to her for the inspiration, because she doesn't even know the fandom and I've wanted to write this story for over eight years.
> 
> Title from Philippians 4:13, which was also the quote Shawn had on his shirt for the match. Text from the King James version of the Bible.

"I want to do a spot with the sledgehammer at the end."

He can't possibly have heard that correctly. Hunter knows he got his bell rung by Lesnar a few days ago, but he's never _hallucinated_ before. And he has to be hallucinating, because otherwise, his best friend has just clearly lost his fucking marbles. You take sledge shots one of two ways - to your head or to your back. Hunter hasn't fucked up a sledge shot in a long damn time, but there's always the chance and he's damned if he's putting that sledgehammer anywhere near either part of Shawn's body.

"Stop looking at me like that," Shawn says, crossing his arms and planting a foot on the back of the seats in front of them. The arena's empty, but in six hours, it'll be full of screaming fans. "You know we have to have a killer finish, because let's face it, the match itself probably won't be anything to write home about."

His defensiveness is reflexive, like a kickout. "Your comeback match? Please. We're gonna tear the fucking house down."

Shawn smiles bemusedly, but Hunter can see the doubt and self-deprecation in it. Shawn doesn't think his back will hold up; they'd practiced (his inner purist cringes at that, actually _practicing_ a match like the business is everything the haters say it is, but the part of him that will always worship the ground Shawn walks on beats the purist into submission) for hours, doing drills and running the ropes.

Holding their breaths every time Shawn took a bump, hoping his back would hold.

"Contingency plans, remember? The match can end when it needs to, but the buildup to it has been epic. Four years of our actual history. There's no way we can get away with just a simple I-win-or-you-win finish."

Shit. Shawn's right - he's usually right - but that hasn't stopped the parade of nightmare scenarios marching through Hunter's head. He could go for the head shot and slip, knock Shawn out or put him in a fucking coma. He could go for the back shot and demolish four years of surgery, leave Shawn right back at "you'll never walk again, much less wrestle". Leave Shawn's wife and kids a broken shell.

And that brings up the guilt again, how he wasn't there for Shawn back in '98. How he let his career get in the way of their friendship, how he handwaved Shawn's drug problems and never listened to Kevin's warnings. That entire year when he and Shawn hadn't even spoken.

Hunter's fist hits the back of the plastic seat before he realizes he's moved. He feels his knuckles split and a low curse leaves his mouth. Shawn looks up at him, putting a hand on Hunter's arm.

"Talk to me, huh? What're you pissed at?"

He exhales, resting his head on his clasped hands atop the seat. "You haven't been in a goddamn ring in four years, and now you want to do a sledge shot on your surgically-repaired back? What the hell would I not be pissed at?"

"You wanna ease up on taking the Lord's name in vain?"

There will never be a universe where he doesn't appreciate Shawn being clean and sober, but the new religion is taking some getting used to. Mainly just hearing Shawn - frequently mistaken for a sailor on shore leave Shawn - getting huffy about profanity, although he can't say he cares for the new attitude toward sex, either.

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

"It's really not," Hunter says, picking his head up to look at Shawn. "I promised your wife and kids I'd take care of you."

Shawn pulls him over, wraps his arms around Hunter and touches his forehead to Hunter's. Shawn's hair is falling in his eyes (Hunter's own is pulled back, press conference this morning and he had to look slick) and the newbie ring crew kids are giving them looks, but Hunter wouldn't trade this for anything. Four years, and he's even missed Shawn's pathological foot-tapping and the way his fingers always play with the collar of Hunter's shirt.

His best friend's voice is low, but filled with certainty. "You will. I trust you, you know that. There is nothing that could happen out there that would break that trust."

"And if that spot goes bad?"

"Then we deal," Shawn says. "We've got the medics on call anyway, with your blade spot. We'll just have to use them, if it comes to that."

Hunter still hates the idea, but it's his show to bring home. He's the one that will have to sell whatever happens. He can't believe Shawn's letting him call the match - they used to call Shawn "Napoleon" when he was in the ring, "control freak" was putting it mildly.

"Okay," he says, and feels Shawn smile.

They have a feud with a four-year history to capitalize on. They have the hopes and expectations of millions of fans to live up to. They have a story to tell and an ending to write. They have a house to bring down and a show to, once again, stop cold.

Time to go to work.


End file.
